


A time that never was ours

by yankmywand



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Post Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:21:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yankmywand/pseuds/yankmywand
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We would tell our stories as if we had never heard them ourselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A time that never was ours

I have a shudder of a thought, a piece of a memory.

I ran into the sun, forgetting who I was. Plague was filling my thoughts, eating them up before I could make them verbal, and I drank from the fountain of death. I died before my own eyes, the feel of the cold barrel to the back of my throat.The unbearable loudness of the gun which left soft gun residue on my fingertips, flung beside me like a misunderstood doll. It was what I clung to when I screamed for mercy inside my own head. When I fell backwards and no one could save me. Everything I did was to save me from myself. An inevitable event in a fixed point in time, it was.

And if you had not been there, I wouldn’t have clung onto life for so long. If I had not met you, your strong arms and your notions which made me laugh at your naïve stupidity; I would have sought for that excitement and never found it. Of course, you never really were stupid. We were the kings of a city we could make into dust if we wanted to.  Kings over crowns and crows, kings over the lust and passion we possessed.

I reach out into darkness once more, my fingers grasping nothing. I am sighing again. Clucking my tongue to the roof of my mouth, I wait for your response. Nothing is as frightening as our lonesomeness. Nothing frightens me more than to grasp but not feel. I yelp, and there is a loud noise around me. I can’t quite understand where I am until…

Warm hands grasp my arms and they are strong. Not as strong as I can remember them. I stare but I can only speak, and listen. And I listen; I listen as you speak against my ear, those whispering words.

My mouth, lips chapped, speaks, and for the first time in a long time, I can see your broken smile.

“Sebastian,” And my hands can feel you, they can touch and I can remember.

_A time that never really was ours._


End file.
